


Unlucky Attraction

by MeltyRum



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under Night In-Birth (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyRum/pseuds/MeltyRum
Collections: Boku no Hero Academia x Persona





	Unlucky Attraction

She hadn’t been joking when she’d said that she would drink whatever he brought her. It was the sort of stupid and reckless behavior that Chaos would normally look upon very poorly, since he’d gotten _very_ tired of seeing it in his own men… but here—where Rose had given him every single possible advantage—he had to admit that it was all very exciting.

Well… “exciting” might be the wrong word. It was more _visceral_ than that. Satisfying. Gratifying. Rose’s drunkenness seemed to hit him almost as potently as it did her, with all the power that it gave him. He could not help thinking, with a thin little smile: by any other name, she just might be as sweet.

She was down on her knees now, but could only barely balance and keep herself upright, so he did his best to correct her posture by threading his fingers through that silvery hair of hers—admiring that hue they both shared—and gripping it tight in his hand, holding her up and stabilizing her with little but the locks in his palm… although it was possible the cock in her mouth helped, too. It gave her something to focus on, after all—for what little focus that remained to her.

Her eyes blinked slowly and lazily, occasionally looking up to meet his gaze as her head slid back and forth along his shaft. There was something carnally exhilarating about those muddled eyes looking back up at him—eyes that were so similar to his own, only while his were as sharp and critical as usual, hers had grown glassy and dazed, as though Rose was only barely still aware of what was happening to her.

It wasn’t really her eyes, however, that captured his attention just now. Ever since she had approached him at that club and made her intentions clear, he had felt how badly he wanted her lips. Chaos had brazenly teased them even there—with his lips and his fingertips—but he had wanted much more from them. Now he _had_ it, and those lips hadn’t disappointed, even though they had grown sloppy and soft, glistening with saliva now that he had them where he wanted them. Drool occasionally still escaped her, sometimes dripping off of him onto her skin… and sometimes down her chin, then to her throat or to her chest. Chaos was surprised that mouth of hers could produce so much; the intensity and volume of the moisture escaping her was only matched by that between her legs.

In a strange way, that reminded him of himself as well. He kept swallowing, he realized, because the sight of her was mouth-watering. If he wasn’t careful, he might just end up getting some of _his_ spit on her, too.

His grip shifted to the back of her skull as he held her still, every muscle in his body tensing all at once as though bracing for impact, hands beginning to tremble as he held her head and jaw against him, feeling himself pulse against her lips as his cock slowly slipped out of her mouth, leaving plenty in its stead. Apparently feeling the drink strongly enough to debase herself further, Rose looked up at him and opened her mouth to reveal his gift un-swallowed. Her tongue swam in it, some of his cum growing bubbly and foamy as it gargled somewhere in the back of her throat. Eventually she closed her mouth and gave Chaos a good look as a faint undulation in her throat signaled her acceptance of him, before she parted her lips once more to proudly show off her drunken, sloppy, drooling mouth—now empty of what he’d left her.

This “Rose” had gotten around a few times, it seemed… and was a natural performer, by Chaos’s judgment. He smiled thinly, relaxing his hold on her face as he knelt down to kiss her, invading her with his tongue and paying no mind to whatever may have just been in her mouth—he didn’t care at all that he could taste it on her. It wasn’t as though it was the first time, and in any case, he was still too hungry for her lips to pass up the chance.

He bent her over the sheets, Rose’s body obeying every wordless command that his hands gave her, resting her head and arms on the sheets as she presented herself. She made no effort at an inviting wiggle, perhaps just enough aware that she’d probably collapse from the effort. Hell, Chaos wouldn’t be surprised if she gave in to the drink and exhaustion and lost _all_ consciousness at some point, which might only be aided by positioning herself so comfortably on his bed.

It wasn’t normal for Chaos to be able to finish more than once, particularly if he wasn’t… receiving. Certainly, he would still take _care_ of his lovers in the event that his climax arrived first, but he knew his limits, and would have described his stamina in the bedroom as completely average.

He was still starved for her, though, and a part of him could sense that _she_ , too, was starving, if not necessarily for him. For touch, maybe? For… _anything_? In many ways, Chaos had never encountered a specimen quite like her, the most obvious of which being that she seemed to be so very much like himself. But there was also the way she let him fill her with drink and do just exactly what he wished; the way she behaved made her seem so docile and dumb and obedient—far different than how she comported herself at the club—but… did she always act like this when she came to the bed of a complete stranger?

It almost seemed to him as if it were all a big act, or a show—as though she were trying to escape herself.

Well, regardless of her reasons, Chaos was more than willing to assist her. If she wanted to be his so badly, then he couldn’t think of a reason not to take her. Off came the glasses.

When he felt her hips under his hands, he could tell that her words at the club had been no lie. He may not have placed her exactly as a _bouncer_ , but—just like she had said—she was certainly no model; Rose wasn’t narrow or skinny enough for it. Even with what Chaos had learned about her during their conversation, he was surprised to find how fit and strong her body really was, to the point where he realized that Rose was likely more muscular than any other woman he’d been with.

Still lean, though, he realized—like him. Again.

As he moved inside her, he felt her walls throb around him appreciatively—but it was only from inside her that he received any response. Had she already succumbed to everything he’d forced down her throat over the course of the evening, letting herself fall victim to him completely? He knew, of course, what this _really_ became in the event that she lost consciousness. A piece of him wanted to slap her awake (a thought that was thrilling all on its own) and demand consent from her—ask her to beg for it, perhaps, since she wanted a man so badly—but he was quite certain that such a thing was unneeded.

Strictly speaking, her being unresponsive made this illegal, but… it was a good thing that Chaos was no stranger to crime. Criminals could provide many things that the strait-laced could not, and the kind of treatment that Rose desired could, in fact, only be given by a criminal.

So he gave it to her.

More than she’d bargained for, perhaps. When he lost control of his hips and felt himself flick somewhat violently out of her and saw the condom slip from the friction, he made the decision to discard it entirely before putting his flesh back into hers so he could feel every inch of her. The prospect of being able to _really_ finish inside her—inside this woman, so physically alike to him, who came practically begging (if not showing it in her words, then in her gestures, in her eyes) to be laid out and taken—inspirited him with a second wind, his own anticipation nearly pushing him over the edge then and there.

He doubted that he had anything to worry about, and his body was too eager for him to start fretting about it now; even if he had all the time in the world, it would be too late at this point for him to vacate her. A woman like her—one who went home with men so easily—was probably on some form of birth control, wasn’t she? Whatever potential dangers there might be, Chaos felt confident facing them, determining that it would be more than worth it as long as he was able to take advantage of this opportunity that Rose had so graciously given him.

And she wasn’t exactly complaining, was she?

The heat connecting them grew only warmer, Rose’s pussy scorching him anew every time he bottomed out inside of her, very nearly penetrating her deepest spot. Chaos saw marks appear on her skin where he had gripped her—in the curvy and creamy flesh of her ass, or at the sharp handles of her hips—but he himself had grown far too drunk to care, even if he’d had barely a sip to drink over the evening.

One energetic grind and thrust turned into another, and another, all melting together until, before long, Chaos was doing far more sensing than thinking, feeling as though her skin had become his, or as though their similarities had become more than simple coincidence—as though in some form, in some way, they were the _same_ , some deep instinct within him awakening at this deeper connection between the two of them, his pleasure turning into something raw and distressing and incredible. There was a realization and a truth here, he knew, but it was one shared between their bodies—spread to every extremity and every organ, distributed so rigorously among the two of them that it could not wholly form in either of their brains, drunk with alcohol and lust as they were. All Chaos knew was the depth of the feeling, and nothing else.

Eventually, he pierced her so deeply that her body responded once again—just as voicelessly as before. Her limp body became a taut and twitching mass of muscle against him, threatening to collapse beneath him as her cunt compressed around him. His second climax took him by surprise, and he could vaguely hear himself groaning through grit teeth as the two of them throbbed almost in tandem with one another and he found himself swallowed up by sharp sensation which straddled pain and gratification as everything within him reached its limits. Exhaustion took him.

When the fog lifted, he found his body pressed to hers, lying atop Rose as his elbows strained to protect her from the bulk of his weight—such that it was. He very reluctantly separated from her, allowing himself a few deep breaths as he looked down upon her: she lie face-down in his sweaty sheets, head turned to one side with her eyes shut and mouth hanging dumbly (but invitingly) open, blissfully unaware of the mess of slickness that had built up between her legs.

After a bit of cursory cleanup, Chaos proceeded to do something he’d never once done for any of the men or women he had brought home with him, and slipped Rose’s panties back onto her—albeit with some difficulty. Partly this was for the sake of her own modesty, but also partly so that when she inevitably leaked whatever he had left inside her, she would get to keep it with her. It was an odd thought, he realized, and it was something  _else_ he’d never desired from any of his partners, wanting to stain them and impose himself in such a way. 

But who knew if the liquor would allow Rose to remember him? He wouldn’t blame her for packing up and leaving while he slept, but also had to acknowledge that he felt a not-insignificant (if not necessarily unprecedented) affection for this woman… so he had to ensure she had  _something_ to remember him by, didn’t he?

There was always the morning, of course. If she did not leave him sooner, Rose would no doubt be assailed by quite the hangover in the morning, and it just might end up being bad enough that Chaos would have to help babysit and play nurse for a little while.

Strangely, a part of him quite liked this idea. She seemed to be in need of taking care of, after all… but perhaps that was just wishful thinking from the bit of him which  _wanted_ to take care of her, just a little—some alien part of himself which would normally have been more than happy for things to end after an evening of sticky entertainment. There was never an immediate  _need_ for Chaos to spend more time with the people he took home, whether he liked them or not,  _including_ here, but…

He chuckled somewhat disdainfully at himself, embarrassed with these feelings. He wouldn’t describe it as a crush, but it was undeniably… special.

Chaos eased himself down onto the bed beside her, lying on his side and drawing close so that he could make out the finer details of her features without reaching for his glasses. He took the side of a finger across her brows, admiring the way they matched his; he could not make out the blue of her eyes through her lids, but he admired those too—in his memories. He handled her silvery hair, letting it fall between his fingers and (of course) admiring this, too, as his head sank into the pillows.


End file.
